Medial
by gabby silang
Summary: Syd gets pissed. Sark gets deep.


Title: Medial  
  
Spoilers: through 3x03  
  
Distribution: cover_me and Hybris, have at. All others, ask nice and bribe me.  
  
Disclaimer: If Sark were mine, he'd spend a whole lot more time naked. Syd's not mine either.  
  
Mr. Sark is in a white room. He is empty-handed, and wears black slacks with a plain white shirt. The room has four walls, is doorless, has a high ceiling, and is featureless in every way. Quite suddenly, Sydney appears on the opposite side from him. She wears black running pants, and a white tank top.  
  
Him: Sydney.  
  
Her(disoriented): What the hell are you doing here?  
  
Him: The same thing you are, I expect.  
  
Her: ...I don't know what I'm doing here.  
  
(He nods)  
  
Her: What is this place?  
  
Him: I don't think that matters. I was here for some time before you arrived, we were somewhere else before, and now we are simply...here.  
  
Her(incredulous): Maybe you are, but I am not sitting around for an indeterminate amount of time while you channel 1970's post-modern theater.  
  
(She attempts to leave, but the walls are solid and the ceiling too high to reach)  
  
Him: It appears we're stuck with each other for the time being.  
  
Her: There is no "we," Sark.  
  
Him: Perhaps out there, (he makes an indistinct gesture) but in here, it seems that that's all there is. Us.  
  
Her: Sure, sure, there's you, me, and all the reasons I shouldn't let you out of here alive.  
  
Him: In cold blood? Is that your style, Sydney?  
  
Her: People change. Death will do that to a girl.  
  
Him: Do you truly believe that you died and are now risen? Or is it simply easier to dissociate from whatever it was you were doing these past few years?  
  
Her: I don't owe you any answers.  
  
Him: Is that so? I was told otherwise.  
  
(beat)  
  
Her: By whom?  
  
Him(crossing the room to stand directly in front of her): That doesn't matter now that I have it from you.  
  
Her: I didn't...I wasn't myself.  
  
(He watches her for a long moment)  
  
Him(quietly): No. You're a sweet girl, aren't you? Is that what you tell them all? Your dear parents, do they believe that? Do you? Do you think mine is the only father you've killed? It is, after all, a family tradition. Or so I hear from your ex-lover's wife. We spoke extensively. Charming woman.  
  
Her(under her breath): Please tell me you slept with her.  
  
Him(flashes a small smile): The glass between us prohibited a more personal interview.  
  
Her: I'm sorry about your father. Him: The only thing he ever gave me was a name. And I disowned it. Her: ...He also gave you 800 million in gold bullion.  
  
(beat) Him: Yes.  
  
Her: Anyway, I'm sorry. I was out of my head.  
  
Him: Or so you hope.  
  
(she retreats from him, putting her back against a wall)  
  
Her: I remember why I'm never nice to you.  
  
Him: Am I too honest? Do I know you too well?  
  
Her: You don't know me at all, you cocky little bastard.  
  
Him: Yet we are both here, now, wherever this is. It must mean something.  
  
Her: This? You propose to find meaning in this? This is nowhere, and you don't even know how long you've been here.  
  
Him: And you do? Perhaps this is where you were. Your lost time. You, too, may have been imprisoned. Who would fault you then for not remembering it? Alone, there would be nothing here to remember. Indeed, the time before you joined me is simply...white noise.  
  
Her(exasperated): That's because existence independent of other people is nearly meaningless.  
  
Him: There's the graduate student.  
  
Her: You know too much, that's true.  
  
Him: Does it make you uncomfortable?  
  
Her: Being trapped in a box with you makes me uncomfortable. It's like a coffin in here.  
  
(beat)  
  
Him: What's the last thing you remember?  
  
Her: Switching to Stoppard? Cute. I remember waking up in an alley.  
  
Him: No, before you were here. Where were you? When was it? What were you doing?  
  
Her: Why should I have to answer all this? How did you get here?  
  
Him: ...I was driving home.  
  
Her: You have a home?  
  
Him: Hotel. Where I was staying for the night.  
  
Her: Your home is where you stay for the night? That's pretty pathetic.  
  
Him: And your home is ashes in a wooden skeleton. I'm content.  
  
Her: So you were driving home. Then what? What time was it?  
  
Him: The sun was setting. Probably six o'clock.  
  
Her: Where were you coming from?  
  
Him: None of this matters, these details from before.  
  
Her: You asked about it first. And it's all we've got. Where were you coming from?  
  
Him: The airport.  
  
Her: And before that?  
  
Him(sighs): Killing somebody.  
  
(She glares at him)  
  
Him: You wanted to know.  
  
Her: So you murder someone, fly somewhere, get a hotel, are driving there, and then you're here?  
  
Him: Murder is for psychopaths. I simply killed him. What's the last thing you remember?  
  
Her: I was at work. But I think I went home...and Weiss...but...they were talking about you. At the office. About tracking you down. I think they were close. Were sending in a team. Wouldn't let me on it. Said I was too...something.  
  
Him: You requested to be on my take-down team? I'm touched.Her: Don't be. Anyway, I guess I was at home before I was here. I remember getting up to answer the door.  
  
Him: Who was there? Her: Probably Weiss. I don't really remember. Him: So after hearing about my impending assassination-  
  
Her: The CIA would not assassinate you, we had no plan to! They were just going to take you in.  
  
(He gives her a look)  
  
Him: And if I dared resist? (She is silent) So after hearing of my impending assassination, you went home and opened the door to persons unknown. You then found yourself here.  
  
Her: Yes.  
  
Him: Meanwhile I drive home unaccompanied, probably into the waiting arms of your associates. And then find myself here.  
  
(They share a look)  
  
Her: No. Don't even say it. Why did I engage with you in the first place? Probably could have been out of here by now if you'd shut your-  
  
Him: Sydney. We have to consider the possibility that we've-  
  
Her: No! We do not have to consider anything. We can sit down and shut up while I get the hell out of-  
  
Him: We have to consider the possibility that we've died.  
  
Her: That's not a possibility. I'm here talking to you, God knows why, but I am.  
  
Him: Denial is the first stage of-  
  
Her: Fuck you, Sark!  
  
Him: If I am correct, then there will be plenty of time to-  
  
Her: Do not even consider finishing that thought. Look, you can go ahead and consider all the possibilities that you like. I'm leaving.  
  
Him: Sydney, there's hardly any texture to the walls or floor at all. Do you intend to dig your way out with your fingernails?  
  
Her: If it will get me away from you? Yes.  
  
(She makes a circuit of the room, toeing the corners ineffectually, ending up where she started, kitty-corner to him)  
  
Him: Is it such an awful thought?  
  
Her: Being possibly dead? Yes, I'd say so.  
  
Him: You have always professed to hate the entrapment of your double life.  
  
Her: Which doesn't mean that I'd like to lose both lives. Just the one would do. And isn't this entrapment?  
  
Him: That would depend on how you approach it.  
  
Her: There's a way to approach this that doesn't boil down to my being trapped in a room with a mortal enemy?  
  
Him: We could start over. Forget everything. It's fading already, I've noticed it in you(She looks at the floor), the past is disappearing for me as well. We could let it go. Begin from here.  
  
Her: And do what with here? There's nothing. Literally.  
  
Him: Well, there is you. And myself. And all the reasons you shouldn't let me out of here alive. We could start with that. And build.  
  
AN: Based very loosely on Sartre's "No Exit" 


End file.
